


Die. Rise. Together.

by Bluesjeanne



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gay, How They Met, Joe - Freeform, Love, M/M, Nicky - Freeform, Nicolo, Romance, Yusuf - Freeform, how can you not love these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluesjeanne/pseuds/Bluesjeanne
Summary: They met during the Crusades. Killed each other many times. A take about what happened to go from enemies to much more.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 132





	Die. Rise. Together.

The blades were different, but the force and passion wielding them were the same.

Nicolo came to help the city, preserve what was holy and just, and protect it from lowly invaders. Yusuf came to save the city, preserve what was right, and protect it from lowly invaders.  
Their fight was outside of the city. They had met early in the battle. Each had seen the other fighting, had slowly worked their way closer.

Formidable enemies.

The moment their swords had clashed, it was clear this was the duel to be had. They were evenly matched. Yusuf’s randomness at times a perfect counter to Nicolo’s precision. In fact, as one finally backed away, knowing he had dealt a fatal blow, the other gave a last wild swing, just catching enough of the exposed neck to kill.

They died together.

They rose together.

Slowly.

When they had fallen, the sun had yet to reach its peak. Now it hung low in the sky. A beautiful backdrop to the morbid carnage littering the land. The Crusaders had pushed further to the city, corpses marking their advance.

The two men regarded each other cautiously, feeling for their own wounds and finding nothing. Their blades raised again. They yelled at each other, but in languages the other didn’t understand. Then they fought again.

This time Nicolo landed the first blow and Yusuf was treated to a slight smirk. They traded hits again. Yusuf determined to earn the next draw of blood. He pressed hard, watching as the other man was forced to give up ground. Nicolo was backing up close to bodies, getting closer to fall over them. But he seemed to be aware of his surroundings, pivoting at the right moment to remain standing. Taking advantage of his opponent’s surprise, he was on the offensive again.  
Yusuf slipped on the blood soaked ground. His knee landed hard, but he managed to bring his sword up in time to block the next strike. Nicolo took a step back, obviously surprised. Yusuf winked at him, pleased with himself. Before he could stand, Nicolo came at him again. Yusuf swung low, slicing into the leg. Nicolo fell. Yet Yusuf did not have time to celebrate. The other downed man lunged at him with a speed and fury Yusuf had not expected. Nicolo tackled him by the legs, bringing him down. Yusuf thought he heard a roar or growl as he was attacked. Then he felt a blade cutting into his side. He prepared for another, but his attacker had spent the last of his strength and collapsed over him. Yusuf didn’t have the strength to move him.

They died together again.

They rose together again.

This pattern was repeated numerous times. The other fighters, by now far from the first line of battle and focused on the siege inside the city, were unaware of the destructions and resurrections. The two men were alone with each other, fighting and dying, appeasing no gods and winning no true victories. 

This was no simple routine, played out for themselves, however.

They weren’t consistent as to who drew first blood, or who died first or how. The fights evolved as they understood techniques, wounds healed quicker, and deaths grew shorter. There was a level of respect forming, beyond the confusion and fear. Neither was the brute their people had told them about.

At one point, Nicolo had dug a cross necklace out from beneath his collar. Showing it to Yusuf, obviously expecting some kind of reaction. A simple nod was not it. That had been a quicker kill. The return was just as quick. It caught Yusuf off guard and Nicolo’s sword pierced his heart with ease.

Yusuf had risen, ready to start again. Clearly there would be no rest until he vanquished whatever demon was before him. As a boy he’d heard tales of demons being attractive to deceive, to draw one to evil. His opponent, he’d come to admit, was rather beautiful, despite the dried blood splattered over him. Not exactly features he’d expected to find pleasing, but the more they fought, the more he’d seen. A grace in movements. A strength in pose. Something in those eyes, sparking with amusement or wonder. The smirk or laugh in reaction to a new assault tactic that seemed to earn more respect. Yes, he was prepared to spar with this creature forever, to keep him away from his home. It wasn’t that bad of an eternity, he supposed, just not one he’d envisioned.

Yusuf prepared for attack and froze at the sight before him.

The sun was setting now. He’d lost track of time. Or perhaps time didn’t truly exist in this eternity. He wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense anymore. What he did know was that part of his city was on fire. There were still many bodies on the ground, but the living had made their way deep into the city. He could hear screams. The demon watched, off to the side, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it. It should have been his victory. Instead he stood, mesmerized by the smoke bellowing from buildings, and clutching his necklace again.

Nicolo held his cross and silently asked his God if this was why he’d been denied heaven and forced to fight a never-ending duel. He was supposed to bring peace and save souls. The heretics who’d betrayed and denied the rightful god were supposed to fight back, but God would make them lose. However, this wasn’t what he’d been told would happen. 

His opponent was skilled, for one. There had been respect in their battles. This wasn’t a savage he’d been taught to hate. The other man fought with honour and resourcefulness. There was an unexpected amount of enjoyment in the fight. This was an equal.

The main battle was not supposed to have fire, either. They were supposed to knock down the resistance, seize the city, liberate the heathens and leave in the morning, restocked with food, applauded as they marched to the Holy Land.

They weren’t supposed to lay waste to it all. They certainly weren’t supposed to do things so the haunting cries of women and children would fill the night.

Behind him, he heard movement. Perhaps it was God’s angel rising again to stop him and his brothers in arms from continuing those atrocities. Perhaps that’s why he’d been cursed. Fighting and dying over and over, with time slipping away, while a city and its people burned. He wasn’t sure anymore. He’d been trying to make things make sense, but nothing did. He couldn’t rejoin his comrades. He wasn’t sure if he was human anymore, and his God refused to speak to him, to tell him what to do. Nicolo was foresaken, he felt, with a lone angel constantly trying to kill him, to hurt him. A lone angel with the face of his supposed enemy.

He did know he was done being selfish, focusing on one insignificant sword fight, arrogantly believing it was about his soul. There was no saving him. He had been a foolish soldier, slaughtering his way through human beings, justifying each kill, to destroy a city all in the name of a God who abandoned him save an angel he couldn’t understand. Nicolo would do what he knew was right, hoping it would finally lay him to rest.

Yusuf watched the other man march away. Then he slowly followed. 

In the city, Nicolo was arguing with a fellow crusader. Beside them, two girls huddled, terrified. A man Yusuf recognized as the girls’ father lie dead at their feet. His demon was angrily pointing at the body and then the sky. The other soldier waved him off dismissively. The demon raised his sword to block his comrade as he attempted to approach the girls. The man’s intentions could be guessed, as word had filtered through the region about these crusaders. They were no saints or prophets. Yusuf watched as the confrontation escalated until the demon had killed one of his own.

Nicolo turned to the young girls to tell them they were safe, no one would lay a hand on them. They didn’t understand his words and the newest corpse wasn’t helping his situation. Yusuf watched as he showed them that cross again, still convinced it would solve his problems. 

They picked up a rock and threw it at him.

Yusuf came from the shadows, quickly talking to them. He asked them to come to him. The demon backed away, some blood trickling down his forehead. Yusuf wasn’t sure what it meant that he felt reassurance that the other man would be fine; he’d hurt the demon far worse before.

Nicolo watched as the possible angel lead the girls to a home. They knocked on the door and waited anxiously, before it finally opened a little. They spoke to the people inside, then the girls rushed in. The door slammed shut and once again he was alone with the other man.

Voices approached and Nicolo rushed to the other man. As crusaders rounded a corner, Nicolo stabbed his enemy/ally, who gave a surprised and angry look before collapsing. The men took in the scene, with Nicolo explaining he’d killed the heretic who’d murdered the man in the street. They nodded approvingly, before asking if there were more around. Nicolo assured them that this area was clear. No one in these houses, though he’d keep looking. 

Yusuf opened his eyes to see the other men walking away, continuing whatever conversation they were having before. He kicked Nicolo, who responded with incomprehensible words and gestures toward the disappearing figures. He waved off the reply, getting the idea that the temporary kill was somehow done as protection but not caring for it.

Yusuf stood up and dusted himself off a bit. He needed to rid his city of these invaders, but clearly his side was either decimated or chained. Either way, he was on his own. Except he did have someone who seemed as indestructible as he had turned out to be, and the whatever-he-was did seem to be on his side now. Perhaps making a deal with a demon was worth a shot. 

“I am Yusuf,” he said slowly in arabic, pointing to himself. Then he pointed to the other man. “Your name?”

There was a brief hesitation before the other man repeated the word “name.” He pointed to himself. “Name Nicolo,” he said.

“Yusuf,” said Yusuf again, pointing to himself. Then, “Nicolo,” as he pointed to the other man.

“Yes, yes,” Nicolo responded, excitedly. Then sighed as he realized Yusuf didn’t understand Italian. He knew basic arabic. Very basic. It was enough to get by while riding with a group of Italian crusaders through the middle east on a mission to reclaim the holy land and its relics. But not enough for a conversation. Certainly not enough for conversation to figure out what was going on or what to do next.

Yusuf thought a moment. Then nodded his head while repeating the Italian word he’d just heard. Nicolo smiled and nodded too, repeating “yes.” Yusuf then said “yes” in arabic, which Nicolo repeated.

Using hand gestures to aid his speech, Yusuf laid out his idea. “Nicolo and Yusuf go to other guards and fight. We rescue the people.” Then he waited. 

Nicolo shook his head. “No.” 

“No,” Yusuf repeated in arabic. He wanted this man’s help. He had to figure out how to get it.

“Nicolo and Yusuf go to other guards,” Nicolo said, using similar gestures. “Nicolo and Yusuf die.” He ran his finger across his neck.

“Nicolo and Yusuf die,” he parroted, as best he could. Then flung open his hands near his face with big eyes and smile. “Nicolo and Yusuf no die.”

There was a chuckle in response before a hand ran over the pale face. Nicolo was sure that smile was going to get him into trouble. He was rather certain it’d won over many women before, possibly other men too. It was hard to resist. Something about the look was oddly reassuring and tempting. He still didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing anymore, but if stopping his own people was the way to redemption, how could he refuse? 

“Yes,” he said and was rewarded with a genuine smile of triumph. He chuckled to himself again. 

Their plan was best described as haphazard. The language barrier was definitely a factor. It was a plan created with basic gestures and barely understood words. Both men hoped they had figured out what the other had meant enough for the attack to work out. Nicolo approaches first, infiltrates and sabotages as possible. Then Yusuf joins the fight. They die as many times as needed to win. Simple.

Nicolo did approach first. He was readily greeted in the camp set up on the south end of the city, looking toward the vast barren land that stretched out before the next conquest. It was the normal setting, familiar to the point he wondered how often he’d joined this part of a siege and never heard the screams of the innocents they probably murdered. Before he had enjoyed this, gathering around with his friends, never paying attention to how many enemies never made it to chains, never seeing how many became slaves for brutal masters who claimed to be sent by God, never realizing the lack of women or children around, or the ones he now saw being dragged off for ungodly acts. He tried to appear as at ease as he would have before, but he had died and risen to see the truth. He was no longer one of them, and he was having trouble pretending to be. One of his friends called out to him.

“Nicolo, is that you?’ Antony came towards him, weaving through the other soldiers.  
“Yes, I am late, I see.” He hoped his smile was believable. “Tell me you did not drink all the good wine?”

Antony stopped a short distance from him, taking in the sight. Lots of blood. No visible wounds. It happened. A little unusual, but nothing that would warrant the look of fear entering his eyes. “I saw you fall.”

“Yes, but I am not dead. Praise the Lord.”

“No, you did die. I passed your body where the Lord claimed your soul. I said a prayer and spat on the body of the scum who slayed you,” Antony raised his sword and others around did too.  
“You are not Nicolo. You are a demon sent by the devil to stop us.”

The blade to the back of the neck was a surprise, but not unwelcome given the turn of events. 

Yusuf had used Nicolo’s distraction to release horses and set fire to some gear. He would have done more, but the garrison had turned on their brother quickly and killed him with so little hesitation Yusuf wondered if they had hated him before his death. Then they were carrying the body toward a fire, chanting something. The words didn’t make sense, but the intention was clear. He was tempted to leave Nicolo, let him continue to be a distraction, but found he couldn’t abandon the man. Demon or not, he was useful and did seem to care. He didn’t deserve to be set ablaze.

Yusuf shouted a battle cry and began his assault. He was pleased to discover how much further he could advance when not slowed down by simple wounds. Soon, Nicolo returned, wiggling out of the others’ clutches. He fell to the ground and started fighting. Though Yusuf was preoccupied with his own targets, he kept the other man in his peripheral. It was strange seeing him fight others again, like this, like they had on the battlefield. That same determination to fight even on his knees was there. He was not going to back down until he was killed, and then he’d rise up again and continue. Yusuf could relate. These men had attacked his people, and he would make them pay if it cost him every drop of his blood. He would have his justice. No mercy for the innocents they killed, so no mercy for these guilty invaders. He would not, obviously could not, rest until they were all dead.

The sun was starting to rise as the final crusader fell. Nicolo stood over the man, his blade against the man’s throat. Yusuf wondered why there was a pause.

“Tell me you did not condone these acts against children and women,” Nicolo was saying to Antony. “Tell me you did not lie to me, to God.”

“They are nothing in the eyes of God, demon. They defile the world with their false religion and false god,” the bearded man said in return. “Nicolo knew this. He turned his head so he would not see the treasures of taking a city, of conquering the misled women. But he knew.”

The sword cut through the neck with swift jab.

“No, I did not,” he said to the body. “But I see now.”

Yusuf watched as Nicolo dropped to his knees, letting go of his sword and spreading his arms. He stayed like that. Yusuf walked over to him, sheathing his sword before sitting infront of him.

“Nicolo?”

“I am waiting for rest.”

“Nicolo?”

“Sorry, I am, um…” Nicolo fumbled for a way to explain himself. He failed and resorted to sighing.

“Nicolo, you are not a demon, no?” Yusuf curled two fingers beside his head to make horns.

The other man shook his head. Then gestured as he spoke, trying to convey the idea of sleeping and seeing Yusuf and two women. 

“Women?” Yusuf repeated the word, not understanding.

“Women,” Nicolo said, using his hands to outline a body. Then he cupped his chest.

“Women!” Yusuf said in arabic, while grabbing his own chest. 

“Yes.”

Yusuf gestured. “Me too.”

“You?”

“Yes?”

They began trying to describe what they saw, determining that the women they saw were the same and where they might be.

“I must go find them,” Nicolo picked up his sword and stood.

Yusuf stood and nodded, certain he understood what the other man intended. After all, it was the same thing he planned to do. His city was saved, but there was no place for a being like himself here. He wasn’t sure what he had become, if there wasn’t evil lurking in this new found power. He wouldn’t risk his home to find out, not when answers might lay elsewhere.

“Women.” Yusuf said with a big smile and wagging his eyebrows. 

Nicolo laughed, even more certain that smile would be his undoing.

They travelled for months, attempting each other’s language and becoming a bit more than merely people with the same objective. At first, they would sleep across from one another around the embers of their campfire, Slowly, they drifted to sleep side by side, sharing stories with their blended languages. Nicolo demonstrated great trust as he had to disguise himself whenever they passed through a town. Sometimes it would not work and Yusuf would have to drag his body to safety. This was initially an annoyance, but Yusuf was finding himself getting angrier at the attackers than at the man who tried to kill his people. It was how Nicolo reacted to the whole situation, checking that he hadn’t made too much trouble or that Yusuf wasn’t hurt in the altercation. Yusuf would have been furious in the other man’s shoes, outraged by the cruelty of some people. Yet, Nicolo shrugged it off, saying he couldn’t hate them for wanting an outsider gone. Crusaders were killers, after all. He could take their rage. Yusuf was having trouble understanding how Nicolo ever got involved in the crusades, though he’d been told several times. Nicolo was simply too kind at times, where Yusuf was used to seeing anger.

They may have rubbed off on each other. Or perhaps they brought out new sides of the other. Nicolo had a calming way with Yusuf. Yusuf had a way of exciting Nicolo. The man may have entered on a mission, but Yusuf was turning it into an adventure. It was a comfortable partnership and neither man was incredibly interested in finding the women they had set out for. In fact, both men were finding their bond very comfortable. They would occasionally spar to keep up their skills, but these bouts were getting more intense than any they’d had with their own brethren in practice. What began as open jokes about distracting an opponent with a bare chest, had become more serious statements. Looks were lasting longer. Companionship they once believed they’d lost was found. They still struggled learning each other’s language, but they had formed their own with gestures and expressions. 

One night, Yusuf woke to find Nicolo sitting on a rock, staring at the embers of their fire. He’d realized the other man could get introspective, but this time it seemed something was weighing on him. He could feel the tension coiled up from here. Yusuf sat beside him. The rock was barely big enough to fit both of them, but the next one was too far away for a proper conversation. Besides, the situation felt like he should be closer.

“More dreams?”

“I saw them fighting. The one with the axe killed someone wearing the cross.”

Nicolo had stopped wearing his cross after saving the city. It was still with his belongings, though. Yusuf had seen it, wondered if he clung to his old life or hoped one day he would feel worthy of wearing it again. He’d suggested that it was okay to wear it; he would take no offence. Nicolo had shook his head and they never discussed it again. Still it obviously haunted him.

“Was it someone—“

“I do not know who,” Nicolo said. “Do you know, I was thinking of when this all started?”

“The day of our many deaths. The first of many days of our many deaths.” 

That earned a faint, brief smile.

“I thought God had sent me. If you had not been there, I would have been lost.”

“No, you would have stood up and someone would have found you.”

“No, I would have charged your home and been blinded again to what we were doing. I would have been just as guilty as they were.”

“Nicolo, you would have seen eventually.”

“Not soon enough. You saved me.”

“I killed you. Many times. You saved yourself.”

“No,” Nicolo sighed. Frustrated he pointed to his chest, while looking directly at Yusuf. “You saved me. My soul.”

Yusuf reached up to cup his cheek. He hadn’t thought about the action, simply reacted to Nicolo. The other man flinched at the touch. His eyes wide with surprise. Yusuf cursed himself. “Sorry, I….”

Then Nicolo took Yusuf’s hand and deliberately brought it back to his cheek. His eyes closed and when they opened, there was a calmness and tenderness. Open and inviting. Yusuf slowly drew closer, closing his eyes as they kissed. 

“Yes,” Nicolo said as they kissed again.

They pulled apart, reluctantly, wearing matching grins. The hearts were different, but the force and passion controlling them were the same. All those months ago, seeing each other fight from a distance, and always drawing them closer.

They would still die.

They would still rise.

They would still do it all, together.


End file.
